


This is How the Holiday Starts

by Dresupi



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cookies, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Kastle Secret Santa Exchange, Kastlechristmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9004069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: Karen gives Frank homemade cookies and he is determined to give her something in return.  Cute Holiday fluff ensues.  <3





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [kastleverse](http://kastleverse.tumblr.com/). Have a happy holiday, dear! <3

Karen wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking.  It had seemed like such a great idea until a microsecond after the Tupperware had left her hand and sat stationary in his. 

Frank frowned, looking down at the container he was now holding as if it were some foreign object and he was trying to analyze it.  His lips pursed, deep in thought and Karen jumped at the chance to wrangle the awkward silence into something salvageable. 

“Cookies.  Sugar cookies…I—I made too many.  Thought you might like…some,” she rambled.  It was a lie. She hadn’t made too many.  In fact, she’d only kept a half dozen for herself.  The rest were in that container.

She’d tinkered with her stupid oven in her apartment, having to use an internal thermometer to gauge the correct temperature, because the dial was off.  She’d dug out one of her mother’s cookbooks, sifting through the bubbly script in the margins.  Blue ink from the Bic Click her mom used to keep in the junk drawer in their kitchen for just such occasions.  She’d gone out to buy vegetable shortening, because it made a better sugar cookie than butter did, according to her mother’s timeless blue-inked opinion.  Not too sweet, not too rich, just in case you wanted to ice them.  But sweet and crumbly enough to be tasty with just colored sugar for decoration.  Which was what Karen had done.  With a cinnamon non-paraeil in the middle.  Just like her mom used to make them.  Everything combined by hand, using a fork to mix in flour until her wrist ached.  Rolled out slightly thicker than what the printed recipe called for, so there was a crunch around the edge, but a chew towards the middle, again, per her mother’s cookbook-margin instructions   Karen had meticulously chosen a simple star cookie cutter, after debating over a stocking and a wreath and deciding against both of them.   

And she’d done it all for Frank Castle, who was now staring at her like _she_ was the foreign object to be analyzed. 

She reached for the container again.  “But if you don’t want them—” 

He pulled it back, turning a little bit to keep her from taking it. “I want them.”  He was quiet for a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

Karen couldn’t help but smile at that.  Even with a black eye from god-knows-what, a beard that could only be described as bushy, and a head full of dark hair to match the beard…well…he still looked handsome.  She couldn’t help noticing.  Which was per usual for her.  She was _always_ noticing.   

 “You’re welcome, Frank.  Happy Holidays.” 

“Same to you…Karen.” 

And she rolled her eyes internally at herself.  Because she knew she’d live off that small victory for weeks afterward.  It made the long hours at the paper worth it.  It gave her something to think of fondly.  Frank Castle finally using her first name.  Not Ms. Page.  Not ma’am.  Karen.  Like they were friends or something. 

And she’d never admit it aloud, because it was as impossible as it was stupid of her to even think of…but she was hoping against hope for the ‘or something’. 

—————

Frank stared down at the empty container.  Crumbs in the bottom. 

He’d really meant to savor them.  Not eat all three dozen cookies in one sitting with a thermos of coffee. 

Karen didn’t strike him as the type that would make too many cookies.  Or the type that wouldn’t have anyone else to give them to, except for him.  If he was being completely honest, she didn’t strike him as the type who baked.  Period. 

She was always so pressed.  Pristine.  Professional.  The thought of her getting her hands or clothes dirty while rolling out cookie dough seemed strange in his head.  A dusting of flour streaked across her cheek.  An oversized apron with too many stains and yet somehow, not big enough to keep the flour off her clothes. 

The cookies, though.  They were good.  Damn good.  And he wasn’t just saying that because he hadn’t had any in a good long while.  No, these would have been deemed ‘good’ at any time. He could still taste them.  Not too sweet, just crunchy enough.  With a cinnamon Red Hot in the middle that somehow made them taste better. 

He hadn’t been expecting cinnamon.  He’d been thinking cherry. 

But it was a pleasant surprise.  He’d honestly forgotten that it was almost Christmas.  The thought brought up some bitter feelings.  Bitter enough to cause him to clench his fists,  press them to his eyes and will the images away.  He couldn’t handle it.  Memories of his family, what few he had. 

Karen.  Karen, he could handle.  He could handle thoughts of her.  With her soft blonde hair and big blue eyes.  Big blue eyes that held shadows that rivaled his own.  A past she’d yet to open up about, and he wasn’t about to go pressing.  It was none of his business, unless he told him and made it his business. 

He wondered if she knew.  She had to know…had to.  He was such a damn fool around her.   How starved he was for human interaction.  Not just human.  Karen.  Karen interaction.  She was his only link to humanity.  She was the only person he spoke with like he did.  He knew she had friends.  Knew she still talked to that lawyer.  Nelson.  Even went out for a drink with him sometimes. 

But for him…she was it.  It was probably a little like a dog’s relationship with their human.  She was his whole life, he was a tiny part of hers.  He was fiercely loyal and she probably thought of him as a thorn in her side.  He had their relationship all figured out.  Relationship…like it could even be called that. 

Whatever it was…he had it all figured out.

Until the cookies.  The cookies were throwing him 

Because yeah…pet owners would sometimes make things for their pets.  But the thing he kept forgetting was…he wasn’t no dog.  He was human.  And she was a human. 

And when someone gives someone else a gift, the sensible thing is to give one back. 

Right? 

He frowned, looking down at the empty container again.  He’d have to go return this to her at any rate.  Wouldn’t be difficult to leave a little something for her with it. 

Frank stood up, determined.  He’d pick something up for her.  Leave it on her stoop.  Ring the bell and leave. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t even ring the bell. 

No.  No, he would.  He didn’t want someone else making off with her tupperware. 

—————

The doorbell was obnoxiously loud first thing in the morning.  And if she hadn’t been in the kitchen already, she might have just ignored it.  But, with the weird layout of her new apartment, she was worried that whoever it was (probably Foggy) would think she was being rude or purposefully ignoring them, so she padded softly out to the door and opened it. 

Catching Frank in mid dash as he bolted from her door, leaving footprints in the snow as he left. 

“Whoa!” she called out.  Awkwardly.  Loudly.  Because she thankfully had the forethought not to yell his name. 

He froze, the snow falling around him as he turned to face her. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked, confused as to why Frank was here. 

He nodded down towards her feet, where her tupperware container sat beside a bag of gourmet coffee beans from the coffee shop she’d been frequenting in Brooklyn.  The place where she’d gotten him large cups of black coffee when she went to visit him. 

She smiled.  “For me?” 

He shrugged. “Happy Holidays.”

“Thank you…Do you wanna…come in?” she asked, jutting her thumb over her shoulder.  “Have some coffee with me?” 

He didn’t respond.  But he did take the porch steps two at a time in his haste to get behind her front door.  In fact, he didn’t talk again until she was already measuring the beans into her coffee grinder. 

The sound made him jump, and she mouthed ‘sorry’ before finishing the grind as quickly as she could. 

“So, what brings you to Hell’s Kitchen?” she asked, half-joking, half-serious. 

“You,” he said simply.  His voice echoing in her kitchen as she dumped the grounds into her coffee maker. 

That one word seemed to both empty the air from the room and fill it up again with silence. 

“Thank you for thinking of me,” she said, emptying water into the reservoir and flipping down the lid.  Pressing the button to start the drip. 

“I’m always thinkin’ of you,” he answered. 

She smiled, feeling her cheeks blush at the confession.  “And why is that, Frank?  Surely you have more important things to worry about?” 

He returned the smile.  As best as he ever did.  His eyes even crinkled a little in the corners.  “Ma’am, I think the only thing I do worry about is your wellbeing.” 

She had to chuckle at that.   “My wellbeing? What on earth would make you think my wellbeing is in danger?” she asked with a sarcastic smirk. 

He shot her a look.  “No clue.”  There was a silence following that wasn’t nearly as big or as forboding.  He inched his way down the counter, his fingers trailing on the formica countertop.  “Just seems like you’re looking for trouble sometimes.” 

“Or maybe trouble is looking for me?” she countered, reaching up behind him to pull a pair of mugs from the cabinet behind his head. 

“Nothing finds you that you don’t allow, Ms. Page.”

“What happened to Karen?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper before they both leaned forward, closing the distance between the two of them, lips pressing gently.  Surprisingly so, given how ungentle Karen really wanted to be. 

“Nothing finds you that you don’t allow.  Karen…” he breathed, his breath was hot against her lips.  Her chin.  His beard scratched as his lips moved against hers. Still gentle.  Still   painfully soft. 

“Damn straight, Frank.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! <3


End file.
